


For better or worse

by StealingPennies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealingPennies/pseuds/StealingPennies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written the kink meme prompt: Arthur/Merlin, divorce.  Merlin cheats, Arthur behaves badly, huge amounts of angst ensue, but if they can’t go back maybe it’s still possible to move forwards…</p>
            </blockquote>





	For better or worse

“I can’t believe you cheated on me.” 

For a moment Arthur looks absolutely shattered then his expression shutters closed and Merlin feels it like a punch in his own guts. He welcomes the pain as a kind of absolution. Maybe if Arthur can just hurt him enough back…

“I can’t believe it either.” Merlin speaks to the table, stares down at hands clasped tight, just short of wringing. 

Arthur’s laugh is short, sharp and not at all amused. His laced hands mirror Merlin’s but speak more of barely suppressed violence.

“It just--“ Merlin stops as something in Arthur’s expression says that now is not the time for explanations or apologies. He falters out a “Later, then.” 

“Whatever,” says Arthur. There’s a metalic clink as his ring drops down on the glass table and spins round and round in jerky circles. Merlin watches in fascinated horror. Arthur doesn’t bother. He grabs his jacket and leaves in a dozen quick-paced footsteps and the distant slam of a door.

Merlin picks up the gold band, still warm from Arthur’s hand, and traces the engraving running round the inside edge: _two sides, same coin_. It matches his own. He’s been in love with Arthur for eleven years, they been together for eighteen months, married for fourteen. Merlin has been unfaithful for one hour of one day. It wasn’t even as if it were planned. Will means nothing to him now beyond the affection for an old friend who deserved his time and a listening ear during a rough patch. Somehow the listening ear had developed into a pity shag and then Arthur had come home. 

And Merlin couldn’t even blame Will. Merlin had done what he had done willingly. He had no idea why. Except at some level he had. He had done it because for once it was nice to be the one who felt needed. 

How to explain that Merlin’s never been more than a six and in Arthur he’s married a ten and is still wondering how it’s happened? Everyday feels like finding the golden ticket that will let him visit the chocolate factory. He’s constantly waiting for the magic to end and the doors to shut with him on the outside looking in. Even after years of knowing Arthur, and living with Arthur’s many faults, Merlin can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t deserve this kind of happy ever after. Will’s like him. Ordinary. Merlin doesn’t have to try. Arthur should know it doesn’t count. Will can’t even start to compare. 

If he could just talk to Arthur. Merlin’s sure he can make him understand. 

 

It’s three in the morning before Arthur returns. Merlin’s watched the numbers change on the small clock by his bedside counting off the seconds into minutes into hours. His phone’s by the side waiting for Arthur to call or reply to one of Merlin’s voicemails.

Arthur stumbles into the room. It one of those attempts at being quiet that are actually louder and more intrusive than not bothering, like whispers in a library. 

“You’re back,” Merlin says inanely because he has to say something. The silence is too heavy. He switches on the bedside light. 

“Obviously.” Arthur’s eyes are shadowed. He’s been drinking. “You have a talent for stating the obvious. I have gone. I am back. You cheated on me less than two years into our marriage.You are an adulterer. I am a cu-cu-cuckold.” There’s a pause. The next words spill out hoarse. “Was he better than me?”

“What?” For a moment Merlin’s stupid slow, like he’s been wakened from sleep instead of lying awake, and doesn’t understand.

“Was he better than me?” repeats Arthur. “In bed. Did he make you scream when you came? Make you beg for more?”

“No,” says Merlin. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” Arthur’s perched on the end of the bed gaze fixed on the corner post of the bed as if he can’t bear to look at Merlin’s face. “Why Merlin?”

“I just—I don’t even know,” Merlin answers. “Will was upset. It just happened. It didn’t mean anything.” 

“I think that makes it worse.” There’s a water bottle on the table by the bed. Arthur flips the lid and takes a long swallow.

Merlin licks his lips nervously. “It was a one off. He needed me.”

“And you think I don’t?” Now the hurt in Arthur’s voice is obvious.

“Not…not like that. You always know how to cope. Will was a mess. You never…Sorry.” It’s woefully inadequate, but the best Merlin can do, even though he’s aware that by trying to explain he’s only made things worse. He’s not surprised when Arthur doesn’t reply. He sits still, mind half planning how, in a minute, Arthur will come to bed and they can touch feet or brush hands and that will make a difference because touching Arthur is the one thing that has always grounded Merlin. Merlin won’t ask for more. He tells himself things will look better in the morning. He doesn’t expect Arthur to walk to the wardrobe and start pulling out clothes, haphazardly throwing them into his sportsbag.

“What are you doing?” It’s a stupid question because it’s very obvious what Arthur’s doing.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving you Merlin.” 

 

*  
The bed is too big and too cold. The sheets need changing but Merlin won’t do it even though any scent of Arthur is long since gone. He’s waited years for the shoe to drop and the irony is, when it does, he’s done it all by himself.

He makes himself coffee automatically taking down two mugs. Sets the table for two and then carefully unsets one place. 

 

*  
Arthur comes in one day when Merlin is at work and removes his clothes. At first Merlin can’t work out what’s wrong, why the flat feels empty when everything seems unchanged. Then he notices that Arthur’s fleece is missing from the stand by the door. In the bedroom he pulls out drawer after empty drawer. Everything’s gone. Even the baby pink scarf that Merlin bought as a joke present and Arthur insisted on wearing with his wool coat in winter.

 

*  
Morgana arrives with a sheaf of papers. She’s wearing narrow black-rimmed glasses and a suit with shoulder pads. 

Merlin makes his way through long paragraphs of legal jargon before handing the pages back. “I won’t agree.” 

“Merlin!” Her voice is exasperated. She sips her herbal tea and leaves the faintest hint of red lipstick on the rim of the cup. “It won’t make a difference in the end.”

“I...don’t” It’s ridiculous. Merlin’s told himself he’s over all this and he certainly isn’t going to make a fool of himself in front of Morgana. “I…just…not for adultery. It was…it was a mistake.” Morgana eyes him coolly, waits for him to continue. “Arthur nearly cheated on me once, you know.” 

Merlin doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, trying to justify the unjustifiable. It was early on in their relationship. Arthur had been in America on business with Sophia, working too long and too hard, and with only each other for company. They got drunk. Kissed. Made out a little. Arthur confessed at once and Merlin had forgiven him. “Why is this so different?”

“Were you married?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not the same at all.” She gathers the papers up, face unreadable. Merlin doesn’t even try and mask the misery. At last she sighs. “Alright, you win. But, Merlin, in the end it won’t matter, if Arthur waits long enough he can divorce you with or without consent.” Her hand brushes his shoulder on leaving. He leans into the almost touch grateful for the contact. 

 

*  
He goes out with friends. More friends try and set him up but Merlin always refuses.  
He holidays with Hunith and Gaius and watches couples holding hands while feeling old and dried up. He swims lengths in the hotel pool and squints against the sharp rays of sunlight that turn the blond hair of the lifeguard into spun gold. He tans, lightly, lines drawn around the strap of his watch and his ring. It’s just a ring. He’s always liked it. Why shouldn’t he wear it?

 

*  
It’s New Year’s Eve. Lancelot is holding a party. 

Arthur juggles oranges for an admiring crowd. He manages six before losing the rhythm and dropping the lot in a chaos of movement and colour. There’s laughter and applause which Arthur acknowledges with a grin. He waggles his eyebrows and a petite brunette makes her way to his side clinging and giggling. 

Merlin drinks too much and ends up throwing up in the rhododendron bushes lining the pavement. At midnight fireworks erupt and the road is suddenly full of revellers raising glasses and cheering. Merlin shuts his eyes and wishes he could travel back in time. 

 

*  
Spring has come early and daffodils bloom in uncoordinated clumps along the roadside.

Merlin tries to think of ways to avoid going to Morgana’s for dinner and fails. She simply won’t take no for an answer. So Merlin finds himself ringing her doorbell, bottle of Merlot in one hand, bouquet of heavy-scented lilies in the other. 

“Lovely,” says Morgana, looking from side-to-side impartially as she lets him in. Gwen’s there too. The table has not yet been laid. “Shall I put things out?” asks Merlin anxious to help. 

“No rush,” says Morgana pouring drinks. The wine is deep red. Merlin clutches his glass tight mindful of the white sofas. Morgana has two black Persian cats and somehow the furniture is still pristine. Gwen looks edgy and won’t meet Merlin’s eyes. He hopes against hope they haven’t set him up on another blind date.

The doorbell rings. Merlin jolts and spills his wine averting disaster at the last minute so the liquid runs down his shirt and not the pale brocade. He sponges himself surreptitiously with his neckerchief. When Merlin feels less stupid he’ll remember to feel relieved. 

Arthur turns the corner into the room and stops. He’s wearing a suit and tie, obviously come straight from work. He looks tired, notes Merlin, and his hair needs cutting. Merlin clenches his fingers around his glass so hard the fragile stem breaks. This time there is no saving the sofa. 

“Oh dear,” says Gwen, flapping around with handfuls of damp cloth. 

“No time,” says Morgana pulling her out. Merlin licks his fingers, blood and wine mingling. Without speaking Arthur pulls him over the sink and washes his hands, the water cool against the pounding in Merlin’s pulse. He presses down with tissue until the bleeding stops. Arthur’s eyes flicker on the ring on his finger. The one Merlin still refuses to take off.

“It’s just a ring,” says Merlin defensively.

“Of course,” Arthur agrees.

Morgana has locked them in from the outside. In the fridge a fully catered feast goes untasted. They sit in silence for two hours. Arthur pretending to read and Merlin watching TV. Eventually the girls come back. Arthur gets up without a word and walks out. 

After a minute Merlin follows. In the darkness he sees the taillight of Arthur’s Porsche as it disappears over the hill.

 

*  
It’s their second anniversary. Material: cotton. Gemstone: garnet. Colour: red. Flower: cosmos. Not that it matters.

Merlin is spending the night in the flat on his own. It wasn’t meant to be this way.  
The door opens and somehow he’s not surprised when Arthur walks into the lounge. Flashback to this moment a year ago when the world was theirs for the taking and Merlin would have sworn that nothing, nothing could possibly come between them. Yeah, well. 

“You’re home late,” he says, inanely.

Incredibly Arthur grins. He’s manic, impulsive, a little wild. “What like a year?”

“More or less.” 

Arthur says nothing and Merlin finds himself spilling words to fill in the silence. Gaius. The business. Morgana’s cats. Babble. Babble. Eventually he runs out of steam and adds in a small voice, “Is there anyone else?”

“Ten men and sixteen women,” says Arthur throwing the numbers at Merlin. He adds mockingly, “No one that mattered. No one at the moment.”

“Don’t!” says Merlin involuntarily

“Don’t what.”

Merlin lifts his hands and drops them. Don’t cheapen yourself is what he wants to say. Arthur’s eyes are wide and his mouth uncertain. Merlin sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No.” agrees Arthur. “It’s just sex after all.”

“Then fuck me,” says Merlin and stops appalled as the words hang in the air. “You said yourself it doesn’t have to mean anything.” Then, because after all this time he still knows how to read Arthur, he adds. “Isn’t that why you’ve come?”

Arthur stares at him as if he’s gone mad. The he turns without a word and walks into the bedroom unbuttoning his shirt along the way. 

Merlin wonders if he should have some pride as he drops on his back and spreads his thighs, wantonly pulling Arthur’s fingers down as if there was any question as to what Merlin wants.

It’s different and it’s the same. Merlin’s afraid of what he might say so he tries not to let his mouth stray from lips or neck until the need for air results in deep panting breathes that leave nothing spare for words. Arthur says his name, “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin” until the syllables blend into each other merlinmerlinmerlinmerlin as he drops his head on Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin clenches involuntarily, his body both protesting the intrusion and holding Arthur tight. It’s rough and it’s messy. Arthur holds Merlin’s hips and pushes deep, cock thick and hot, burning into Merlin’s sense memory. Merlin winces as Arthur pulls out. The bed is sticky with lube and come.

Arthur does not offer to stay and Merlin does not ask.

A blond hair rests on the pillow. Merlin wraps it around his finger next to his wedding ring. His body’s unused to this. The hurt will be with him for days, weeks if he’s lucky. There are finger marks on his hips. He presses down remembering the touch of other hands. He sleeps well. 

 

*  
They meet from time to time at mutual friends. It doesn’t get easier but Merlin gets better at pretending. Sometimes Arthur has a date, more often he is alone. Will moves up north and starts seeing a co-worker. Merlin tries, and mainly succeeds, to be happy for him. 

 

He dreams less, sleeps better taking up the centre of the bed instead of just one side. He goes on dates. Tells himself he’s moved on. 

 

*  
Another year passes. Merlin’s lost weight, been promoted, bought a new car, bought new bedding. This will be their final meeting – separation with consent. He doesn’t know why he insists it be in person rather than through the lawyers. 

Arthur rings the bell and waits to be let in. Merlin greets him and follows him up the wooden stairs. It’s all very civilised.

“That’s it then.” Arthur’s eye drifts to Merlin’s hand. “Signed, sealed and undelivered. You can take off the ring and tell the world you’re a free man.”

Merlin meets his eyes, blue on blue, and knows that however many lies he’s told himself he can’t repeat them now. “Arthur, I will never regret marrying you. I only regret that we couldn’t make it work.”

Arthur reaches out and runs a light finger over Merlin’s ring. He’s hedging, Merlin realises, not wanting to go although there’s no longer any reason to stay. “I don’t know what happened to my ring. I took everything else but I could never find it. I don’t suppose it matters now.”

Merlin picks up the Chinese vase on the old-fashioned mantelpiece and tips it up. “Here.”

“Arthur holds out his hand. Merlin takes it, intending to drop the ring into Arthur’s palm. Instead he finds himself sliding it back onto Arthur’s finger as he had three years ago when they were surrounded by friends and family and the action was punctuated by applause. He wants to say something. Arthur doesn’t move and Merlin comes closer crowding him. Something jagged and torn finally fits back into place. Messy but still true. Later they’re going have to talk, and it won’t be easy because they’re stupid and stubborn and proud, and that’s just Arthur, and the time wasted won’t come back, but Merlin holds still, caught in the moment. 

“I wanted us to be together forever.” Arthur’s voice is low. He hasn’t moved his hand. 

Merlin’s breath catches as he presses his mouth against the pale softness of Arthur’s hair. He sees the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat familiar and right against Merlin’s own. “We still can.”


End file.
